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I’ve never been the type to credit a muse for my inspiration but when I think of her, the world comes alive.
I can’t let Mark fuck this up. I need Bianca in ways I’ve denied. And from what I’ve heard, her boyfriend broke up with her. That shouldn’t be a green flag for me, but fuck if I don’t want to help ease her through the heartbreak.
The doors to the sex club are locked. The bodyguard outside shakes his head when I try the handle, even though he told me that I couldn’t go in yet.
He glances at his watch. “Five more minutes.”
I note his name embroidered on his barely-big-enough black polo. “It’s an emergency, Winger.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“I have to talk to my stepsister. It’s a private matter.”
“Is her life in danger?”
“No.”
“Is there a death in the family?”
“No.” Although I seriously wonder if somebody’s life might be in danger if they bid on her. That’s not likely to carry any weight with Winger.
Five minutes pass and I expect the door to open from the inside, but to my surprise, Winger pulls keys from his pocket and unlocks the doors. I decide not to voice my thoughts that he’s a dick for making me wait.
As I make my way through the club, I ask the wait staff where the women for auction are and get mixed answers anywhere from no one’s allowed in with them to waitresses pointing in the general direction of the stage.
I head for the door beside the stage where a bodyguard with a similarly strained polo to the guy outside, although this one named Mammoth, steps in front of me.
“I have to talk to Bianca.” I point as if I know where she is.
“The only talking they want to hear tonight is the auctioneer rattling numbers each time you raise your paddle.”
“She’s my stepsister.”
Mammoth smirks.
“It’s not like that.” Except it is. That crazy inspiration I get from Bianca is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Probably the taboo nature. Stepsisters shouldn’t have such long legs, tiny waist, and plump tits. She’s a hummingbird in a family of vultures. She’s a relief.
I have to shake the thought of settling down with her from my mind. Monotony stifles creativity.
“Sign-up is over there.” Mammoth extends his tree-trunk sized arm.
I follow the direction he indicates and get that out of the way in case it’s necessary. Then I stake out the front table since others are filing in.
I pat the bidding number against my thigh, lift it, and imagine I’m the winning bid. Exhilaration shoots through me. My cock swells before I get control.
I can’t imagine what her dad would think. The charitable donation defense would go over better than the truth of making sure no one got their hands on her because she’s mine. It’s very clear in my mind how this needs to work.
Mammoth walks past. I pop up once he safely has his back to me and I head for the side door.
“Do not touch that handle,” he booms.
“Look dude, it’s my sister. I need to talk to her.”
“What’s your name?”
“Carl.”
“Your message?” His crossed arms indicate he doesn’t give a fuck what my message is.
